Back To Life
by Ecco scribbles
Summary: Harry. Cutting, some suicidal thoughts. Dark. Updated!
1. Love Me Back To Life

Disclaimer: "Love Me Back To Life" belongs to Bon Jovi. "Harry Potter" and associated characters/world belongs to J.K.R. In other words, not mine!

Warnings: Suicidal thoughts, cutting. Pretty serious themes. Don't like, don't read.

To me, this song is just perfect for this type of fic! And I've never written a songfic before, but here we go…hope you enjoy!

NEW AN NOTE: Due to and their ideas on songfics, the lyrics have been removed. But the idea of the song is still there.

They think I'm meant to save their world.

The wizarding world. A world that I never knew about until I was eleven. A little kid, meant to save an entire world. They thought I was the Heir of Slytherin in my second year. Their "savior" wasn't good enough then. Not after they knew that I was a Parselmouth. In fourth, they thought that it was my fault that Cedric died…that I was making it up.

Rita Skeeter, always trying to make some big deal out of me. I'm just a kid. Not meant to do anything great and fantastic at my age—they don't expect anything else from anyone else. But when I mess up…when people die…

They blame me. I know they do. I've been told…so many times…how worthless I am…what a freak I am…It makes me want to give into whatever they say I am…become what they think I am already.

I watch a thin line of blood appear. A hiss. It's not deep…not extremely painful.

Yet.

Another one, just beside the first, to the right of it. Right at the wrist…right where the vein is…not deep enough.

Another breath, sharply taken in.

It makes me feel better. The pain. The blood. Letting all my fears…my insecurities…THEIR pain…out.

The blade is my lover now…the only one that cares. Keeps me here.

It makes me feel something…something…

I no longer feel pain. Only if the blade sinks itself into my flesh. Only if it cuts so that blood comes from the wound. Only if I scratch the scabs till they bleed again.

I'm the Boy Who Lived. Too Long. But they don't add that second part…aloud. They don't understand…or even see…'Harry'. They see…something else…

Someone else. At Hogwarts…and the rest of the wizarding world, I'm the 'Boy Who Lived'. To my 'family', I'm a freak.

To me…I'm 'Harry.'

And sometimes I wonder even about that.

When the blade first sang to me…I wasn't sure if I could through with it. If I could actually pierce my skin with a sharp metal. Let the blood come.

Then it glistened. I gave in.

No one knows.

I've tried to stop. Really. It just hasn't worked…won't work. I crave it now. 

It keeps me alive.

_  
_  
If I ever had to stop…if anyone found out and made me stop…I couldn't handle that. No. I wouldn't let them.

The blade caresses my skin…a wanton lover. Another hiss, another line.

A deeper cut. I close my eyes, relishing it. Relishing the pain that it brings, they only thing that gives me any feeling at all.

I cradle the blade in my hands. I'm done for tonight. A concealing charm hides the newest scars. Collected over time…old ones have faded. Blended now.

Phew. That wasn't quite what I had planned…but hey, it still works.

I could also see a lover…not just the blade…but in this, that's what Harry made me write, so I hear and obey J.K.'s characters. Once again, hope you enjoyed.


	2. Hook Me Up

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and co. don't belong to me. "Hook Me Up" belongs to Bon Jovi.

Another one: I'm on a Bon Jovi kick—still—after their concert. Which I saw in March. Ah well.

Warnings: still suicidal-ish, still dark.

I cut too deep.

I can feel the blood, trickling out. I've clamped my hand on it, but the blood seems to find its way between the cracks of my fingers.

A gasp, the pain, it's starting to fade.

I get dizzy, then slump even further. I feel the lines from the tiles—I must be in the bathroom. A faint dripping noise, someone's left the faucet on.

The pain comes roaring back. Angry and unhappy that it gave me even a moment's respite.

I live for the pain—it's the only thing that makes me feel.

But I didn't really want to die—not really…ok, maybe a little…but not like this.

I always thought that I'd die at Voldemort's hand.

Or a Death Eater's.

I hear footsteps, try to call out—

The words are stuck, they come out a whisper.

For months, years even, I've wanted to die. To let it just end. The pain, the nightmares.

I cut too deep. The pain's more than what I like; drilling itself into my skin, spreading throughout my body. All from one little cut.

I only meant it to be a small one, just at the corner of my wrist.

The blade slipped.

I call out again.

The blood answers me.

I wonder if they'll find me.

If they'll even care if I'm gone

More footsteps.

Please.

Another whisper. It sings, gleaming.

A voice!

A muttered "Potter, where are you?"

I vaguely recognize it; after all, I've heard it for seven years now.

But do you care?

The blood…I feel drained.

Will the wizarding world mourn me?

Or give me peace?

Or stop my veins from giving up so willingly?

Do I want you to find me?

I can't think.

Cold, so cold.

More footsteps, closer now. A steady pace.

Voldemort's not going to kill me.

I always did wonder what would happen once he was gone.

Another gasp.

Murmurs.

Someone always was around to save me then.

To save me when the wizarding world needed me.

But now—

I can feel myself just wanted to fade…close my eyes—

My vision seems to have failed me.

I'm not sure…I try to speak, but no words come out.

I here footsteps…walking…__

They go past the bathroom.

Well then. Harry made me do it! Think that'll work? No, I didn't really think so either. Anyway, hope you enjoyed another adventure into dark-world.


	3. Fortress

Disclaimer: Not mine! Yet with all the tormenting they do to my sleep (as in giving me ideas that I must write at like 2 am, well, they should be!). OK, a little more officially: J.K.R. belongs to Harry Potter, "Fortress" to Sister Hazel (shocked that it's not JBJ? I am).

Warnings: Yet again, darkish themes of suicidal thoughts and cutting.

Rating: PG-13 to R, for the skittish.

Continuation of Hook Me Up (continued from Love Me Back To Life).

Cold.

Antiseptic smell—

I know it from anywhere.

Damn it.

Hospital wing.

I try to move, see what they've done.

I'm in a full body bind. I suppose I'm probably not supposed to even be aware of anything—least till they bring the St. Mungo's doctors, who will put me in their psych ward.

The loony bin.

I thought that last night that I had finally done it.

Finally finished Voldemort's plan, Pettigrew's mistake, Malfoy's blundering. The war's casualty list has stayed the same.

In body count.

I know—and they do too, if they dared to think about it—that it's the death and destruction and blood and terror of the past years.

Or maybe I'm just a freak, like my 'family' has always said.

Or maybe I'm just—

_So heavy_

Tired. So tired.

Of it all. Cedric. My parents. Voldemort. Pettigrew. Malfoy. Snape. Dumbledore. Hermione. Ron. Every single damned Hogwarts student, for that matter, the whole wizarding world.

Why can't they just leave me be? Leave me alone.

Why couldn't they just let me…finish my slip?

I try to finger my scars.

They help me to relax.

Feel—slightly—better.

The bind is starting to weaken.

I wonder what will happen when one of them realizes I'm awake.

I wonder what they see when they look at me.

A hero?

A boy?

Suicidal man, on the verge of going over the brink?

No. They see the Boy-Who-Lived.

Not me.

Not Harry._  
_  
Ah—the bind's starting to give way.

My fingers stretch, I wince. I finger the scars.

They're smooth, smoother than they ever been.

I want to make another…

Just one little line.

Yes…right there.

Sigh.

_Weary_

They've noticed I'm awake.

I pretend to fall asleep again.

_My hands slapped I'm cautious and leery  
Of tryin' - oh but I'm tryin'_

When will the St. Mungo's people come?

I can only hear a murmur of voices, barely rising, talking in hushed low tones.

I try to recognize the voices.

Madame Pomphrey. Dumbledore. Snape.

I can't decipher the rest.

Damn them.

They're going to send me away.

Someone's arguing that I would be better off to remain here.

I can almost move my arm.

They've left a knife on the table beside me—someone absent-minded, forgetful…or helpful perhaps? No; no one here.

I reach for it, longing for just one more line, one more smooth ridge. __

Perhaps the end of the songfic era? Who knows. This was supposed to be a short. Ah well. Best laid plans and all that. Hope you enjoyed.


	4. Holier than Thou

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and co. owned by J.K.R. Metallica owns "Holier Than Thou".

Warnings: Cutting, suicidal thoughts, Manipulative!Dumbledore, Angsty!Harry.

You all do know that there was only supposed to be one part to this? That it was a one-shot fic, right? Damn muses.

Thank you for your reviews! I've got to say that I'm surprised that people really like it.

Damn them!

DAMN him!

Only wanted one more little cut, just there.

No harm.

I had fingered the blade, just touching the sharp edge—not pressing down. Yet.

And then, almost had it in position, I closed my eyes.

Swiped the blade—and opened my eyes when I felt his hands on me.

Damn him.

He wants to talk about my feelings.

How the "world" would "miss" me.

Doesn't he know that I don't really want to die?

That it's a release.

And then he had the gall to forbid me from doing it ever again.

And no flying. I wasn't to be in a room by myself—I couldn't even shower or dress by myself. Any potion ingredients that needed cutting would already be done for me. My food would be cut for me.

He says when he can trust me again, I'll be allowed to be by myself for some periods of time.

What right does he have?

Always interfering. Always saying, you must do this, you must do that. Putting the burdens of saving of a world on a baby's shoulders.

Foolish. And now you want to talk.

I ignore you. Turn my head to the other side.

You prattle on about nothing.

Tell me how everyone hopes that I'll get better. That you'll help me. That all my professors will help me.

That the scars will heal.

That I won't want to cut again.

Ask me again, what was wrong. What drove me to want to kill myself.

I didn't want to kill myself, but I don't tell you that. No, you just want to continue on, talking, talking, talking.

The twinkle in your eye still there.

Seeing that I'm not about to answer you, you talk about sending me St. Mungo's.

But what's one boy?

But when that boy is the damned Boy-Who-Lived, well, that's when you care.

I wonder if you would care as much if I were in Slytherin.

If I didn't have this scar on my forehead.

You think that you know me.

You see me as The Hero. The Savior. The Boy-Who-Killed-Voldemort.

But you don't know me at all.

Only one of you even has a vague understanding of the Real Boy-Who-Lived.

Who absolutely despises that name.

It's Harry.

Plain and simple.

But it doesn't matter to you who I am. No, as long as your world is safe, as long as you are the Headmaster and seen as the person that guided the Boy-Who-Lived.

You can't understand why I long for that blade again.

Why I'd like to pull my wand out and hex and curse you.

You think that a few weeks or so of you prattling on to me about how much the world needs me, how much I'm loved, how much I've done, will make me not want to kill myself. Not want to cut.

You never really did understand me, did you? You still see that pathetic eleven year old, wanting to do his best to please and get praise, because that's the only time he ever got it. That I still want to be that little boy.

Well then. I have to search for a song that I like for the next chapter, if you all want this to be continued? Oh, if you catch any mistakes, sorry.

Still wondering why this didn't stop as a one-shot fic. Ah well.


	5. Jumper

Disclaimer: Not mine. Harry and co belong to JKR, "Jumper" to Third Eye Blind.

Claimer: insanity from Muses that won't shush

Warnings: Suicidal thoughts and cutting.

Rating: hmm…PG-13 to R. Depends on your perspective.

I won't attempt to say that you are my friend.

We know the truth—you dislike me as much as I dislike you.

I for believing that you are a spoiled little boy; you for my actions based on that belief.

To see you with those scars…to see you with your badges of hurt.

It's difficult for the world to differentiate the Boy-Who-Lived, from Harry Potter. It's difficult for me to differentiate James, from Harry.

It's not an excuse.

But it's a fact.

I wish that you could have spoken to me.

Could have come to me, like my Slytherins.

Perhaps if you had been in my House you would have.

They almost always do find their way to me.

You've been lied to more than most.

You've been hurt and subjected to more pain than what a boy should be.

Albus means no harm, even with his thoughts of sending you to St. Mungo's.

Perhaps it would be best.

I am the only one of the professors to know the difference between cutting and suicide.

Yes, perhaps it was an attempt. But with the amount of scarring that we found…

Perhaps we should have noticed the signs. I should have recognized them.

The Gryffindors have always gone to their Head of House. Perhaps that is why McGonnagal thinks you have something that needs to be dealt with at St. Mungo's.

I should have known…when you stopped being so defiant in class.

I thought it might have been a sign of growing up.

You've grown in years more than age.

You know of my time as a Death Eater, even if only slightly.

You know that I do understand.

Perhaps you meant to slip.

Perhaps not.

Whatever the circumstance, you should have had someone to come to.

Albus won't allow you to be by yourself, restricts your solitude completely.

I watch as your chest rises and falls, but I know that you aren't asleep.

I know that you are only waiting for a chance.

Perhaps you only want another cut.

It becomes addictive.

Weasley and Granger were totally shocked and appalled. Granger had to be sedated.

Weasley ran out once he saw the bandages at your wrist.

The rest of Gryffindor is in chaos.

The Wizarding World aren't aware of your "attempt" yet—but soon, they will be. One of the other children will spread the news.

I wonder what you dream of.

Is it Voldemort and the last battle?

Is it that Diggory boy?

Your parents?

Weaning you from the blade would have been much simpler.

Perhaps then you would deem to talk to us.

All attempts have been cast off.

Nothing seems to penetrate the wall you've erected—it's as if we do not exist to you.

St. Mungo's would do nothing for you.

It would only send you deeper into whatever hell you already feel.

I've debated with myself, how to get through to you.

You would not believe me to be "nice." Nor can I be sarcastic and cruel—though that could possibly get you to speak, if only curses.

But I must try.

"Potter."

Eh. Well, not my favorite chapter. Snape's difficult. Oh well, hope you liked it anyway.

Hopefully the next one will be a bit better…Main prob with this one was the song, perhaps…not quite fitting as I'd like.


	6. Talk to Me

Disclaimer:  Do I really have to do this anymore?  Yes?  Fine.  J.K.R. and Harry Potter belong to each other.

Warnings:  Suicidal thoughts, cutting, Angsty!Harry and Snape.

Arg.  Muses.  They've abandoned all my other stories save this.  Arg.

Thank you to my lovely reviewers.  I've no idea where this story's coming from, as it was completely unplanned.  Without your reviews, my Muse'd be unhappy, and an unhappy Muse is a dangerous Muse.  So my Muse—and my sanity—thank you.

He's finally stopped talking to me.

Now he just watches.

Waits for me to talk to him.

Yeah, right.  No way.  Not happening.  

I'd sooner have a six course meal with Voldemort, with me scheduled for dessert.

He leaves the room, and I hope that he doesn't notice he's not taken my fork away.  A fork is kind of crass, and a bit messier, but it'd do.  

No such luck.  He returns before I can get out of this damn bed, with Snape.  

"Potter."  

Snape.  If anyone could understand…

"Potter, though I'd rather not have you…gracing me…with your attention, look at me when I'm speaking to you."

Sod off.

"Potter."

What's he going to do, give me detention?  

I almost laugh at the thought.

And then do so.  

I think I've worried them even more, oh dear.  Poor little wizards, their savior's lost his mind.

They exchange glances that they don't think I notice.

"Potter."

Damn it, my name is Harry.

"Harry, yes."  I suppose I said my name aloud.  Hadn't meant to.  

Oh well.  Snape-baiting or ignoring him.

It's difficult to choose.

"Harry."  My name sounds garbled, as if he's having difficulty actually saying my given name.

A giggle.

Boy-Who-Lived(too much) Giggles Insanely While They Lock Him in St. Mungo's, story, page six.

Another.

"Talk to me."  

Talk, talk, talk.  

Why do they always want to talk?

Always words, words, words.  Weary words.

I want my blade.

They took it away from me.  

That one was special.  

It was the first one I used.  I miss it. 

"Potter."  Ah, he's frustrated, resorting to calling me by my father's name.  

"What are you yammering about?"  

He's surprised.  I've turned to face him; his eyebrows raised, kind of quirked in a weird fashion.  Other than that, you can barely tell that the man has any facial expressions.  Good glare though.

"Why did you cut yourself?"

Ah.  He might understand more than I gave him credit for—after all, he already understands more than Dumbledore.

I look at him.

The silence stretches, becomes an almost tangible entity.  

"It slipped."  I decided to answer him.  The only way I'd get out of this bed was for them to trust me not to hurt myself.  It had been three weeks since Dumbledore's first attempt to talk to me.  

He inclines his head, understanding, even if only a little.

"Why didn't you come to someone?"

"Who'd I have gone to, Snape?"  Dumbledore?  Hah.  McGonnagal, not bloody likely.  Him?  Again, hah.  Maybe Filch, but he'd probably have helped me finish it off.  Something to keep in mind.

Again, he nods, accepting my words.  Not replying with the person I could go to—he knows that there's no one.

Foolish, the lot of them.  

Even Snape, though he understands slightly.

"Dumbledore has decided that you may start classes tomorrow.  Provided that you are never left alone."  

I shrug.  It'd be nice to get out of bed, but, classes.  I'm not Hermione. 

He's gone quiet.

I wonder if he knows where my blade is.

"Your Potions ingredients will be pre-cut for you.  Professor Dumbledore insisted on that."

Good, less work for me.

But perhaps I could borrow my partner's…

"You'll be working by yourself, at the bench directly in front of me."  

They always ruin it.  

"Your other professors will have other plans for you."

Don't they always?

"Potter.  Are you listening?"  

My ears weren't damaged.  

"Harry?"  I never expected for Snape to sound so…concerned.  Rather frightening.

"Yes?"  

"Do you wish to return to classes?"  

I laugh.  Return to classes…return to the stares, the whispers…

"I want my blade."  

It was beautiful.  Silver-handled, with an intricate design.  I kept it sharp—dulled blades don't make the fine lines that I like best, but they'll do when they must.

"I'm afraid that you won't be allowed it back for quite awhile."  

"It's mine."

"It will be kept for you."  

"You don't know how to take care of it."  A tear?  I wipe it away angrily.  I want my blade, it's mine, they can't have it.  They've taken so much from me; it's only a little thing; it's mine.

My only friend; MY savior.  

I want it back.

Well.  Not a songfic, couldn't find one that fit the dialogue, and this sets the stage, don't you think?  Not a very good chapter, but if someone suggests a song for it, I'll rewrite it.  The next chapter's almost complete.  I have finals coming up and graduation, so it's likely that I won't update until the week after.  


	7. The Unforgiven

The Unforgiven is brought to you today by Metallica, Harry Potter and co has been so generously taken from J.K.R. All will be returned when this is complete—until the next idea comes along.

His first class didn't go as I had expected.

Instead of the Gryffindors surrounding their fallen savior, they shunned him.

Apparently he was a 'selfish git' that 'should have done the job right.'

Even I hesitate at this.

Yes, I don't mind him being taken down a notch or two—when he's in full possession of his mental faculties.

But when he's so obviously…distraught…it's strange to seem him sitting there, by himself, his cauldron in front of him.

Yes, he's to work by himself.

I keep my eye on him, even more so than usual.

When something was tossed into his cauldron—by a Gryffindor, no less—the whispers that had been veiled were no longer so quiet.

_Freak should have done the job right. Selfish git. He should have finished it off. Who found him, anyway? Why didn't they just let the world be rid of him? It'd be better off._

He just stirred faster, gripping the handle to death. Obviously trying to ignore them. A freezing spell kept the contents from exploding in his face, so now there was a conglomerate of boil removing potion hanging in the air.

He ignored that too, just kept stirring the remainder in his cauldron.

I wonder if they even realize what really happened.

If they realized the pain—the guilt—that he still feels from so many deaths.

That he feels the Cruciatus when it's cast.

That his family life is far from the hero-worship we all thought it.

Though I understand some of what he's going through—my Slytherins aren't so different—I can't imagine the pain he's feeling from their rejection.

I wonder if this will affect him even more…

If he'll draw into himself…

If he'll try to cut again—there are ways.

Hopefully he hasn't discovered them yet.

How the Gryffindors so quickly forget their hero.

I wonder if they've even glimpsed the real Harry.

I know that I haven't.

But for them to do this to him…to utterly reject him—

They are no different than their parents though.

No different than their own Headmaster.

It's to be expected.

He did do as they expected him to do—kill Voldemort.

They didn't expect him to close off, to cut himself, to attempt to take his own life.

And it would have been no different if he hadn't reacted that way.

If he was the claimed hero, and lived to that, they would begin to resent him.

They would ask more and more of him until he finally collapsed.

His collapse came earlier than expected—

Yet not to all of us.

The Wizarding world, his friends, the Gryffindors, all expected too much of the boy.

It's a wonder that he didn't just disappear after that final battle.

He's stirring absently, barely paying attention to the detail.

Perhaps that's a real facet of his character.

Perhaps that is what we want to see.

They all wanted to see a savior, rather than a boy.

They wanted to see the fame.

They see me as a greasy git/bastard.

But truly, my Slytherins know differently.

The class is almost over.

"Potter, see me after class."

The Gryffindors snicker.

The Slytherins are strangely silent.

Hm. Needs to be edited. Not sure what else.

As far as updates go: I have an update group on yahoo, which can be found at:

groups. find "Back to Life" here, as well as a few of my other fics that are also on Responses—if you rather not have these, unless it's a specific question, tell me in your review. I normally don't do them, but I felt like it this time around.

Elf Princess Bloom: Glad you like the darkness that is the story. And yes, the muses insist on there being more.

ChevyCowGirl54: Nope, I don't. A friend of mine did though, so I've been exposed to it quite a bit…

Kate the Great: Thank you. I love it when people say my writing's beautiful!

Kim: I hope that I can keep with the good song choices…though chapter six kind of strayed from it.

Blackenedsoul: lovely nic::hands you some tissues:

Moose: you were one of the reasons why I continued—that and Harry insisted on me finishing the story.

Noddy: wow…I made you cringe…I don't think I've ever gotten that response before. The damned blade…lol…yes, but he made me write it. As far as him getting something to live for…well, perhaps…

Shadowsofpain: Thank you…and yes, they can be pretty foolish. My first loyal fan, yeah! As far as him being sent to St. Mungo's…it's a possibility.

Manda: Thanks! "Dark, but lovely dark"…such a description…:blushes:

Illusoire: wow, glad you liked it…and I thought that "MY savior" would be mildly disturbing, but also, understandable…

Wink at J00: Wow. Thanks. That song will be used, but later on…I have no idea how many chapters this will be, mainly because it was supposed to be a one-shot fic. Thanks for the song suggestion (there is a chapter that it fits with…).

Phoenixfeather: You made me feel better about that chapter. Snape's my absolute favorite character, so it's hard for me to get into his head. Reading through the chapter again after your comments made me realize that it was a pretty decent chapter—better than some of the others, so thank you!

Esperanza: Thanks! Harry's thoughts are quite dark, aren't they?

Nycomet: Thanks…I write poetry, and tend to use more of a poetic flair to my writing than prose. Drives the creative writing profs nuts. With someone else's pov…eventually.

Soleil-luna-day: Angsty's fun. Writing as well as reading…our fascination with it…

Velondra: Thank you! Glad you like it!


	8. I Shall Cut Off My Ears

Disclaimer:  Harry, sadly, isn't mine.  J.K. won't give me her world.  Sniffles.

Claimer:  mmm…insanity?

Warnings:  Dark, angsty, pain-driven fic riddled with songs.  Suicidal thoughts, cutting.  Mean Gryffs, normal Slyths, scared Huffs, and considering Snape.  

Thank you so much to all my reviewers…I'm so glad you're liking this story.  I really am surprised by its good reception.  Sorry for taking so long to update—finals were hectic and moving even more so.  Also, no song for this part.  I may go back and do one, but not likely.  You'll probably notice a distinct lack of songs in subsequent chapters—though there are a still a few, such as the one I promised.  

I Shall Cut Off My Ears

He sat at his bench, still.  No trace of movement.  No sign of caring.  

I sigh deeply—what was I to do with this infuriating boy?  No, I don't like him and never will.   No, I don't particularly feel sorry for him either.  

Exasperation, yes.  

Alright, so he has some sympathy.  But I wouldn't swear to it.

He's but a boy, but a boy made to be something larger than himself.  And the little cowards don't accept that he couldn't handle it.  They think that it's his duty to fulfill…his birthright…his obligation.  

They forget that they are the same age as he.  

They tend to ignore facts that aren't to their liking.

I clear my throat.  

He doesn't move a muscle.

I wonder if he's even aware of where he is.

"Yes."  

A whisper, but—had I said it aloud?—apparently.  

"I know where I am."

And the sorrow and misery in those five words try to worm their way into me, attaching somewhere inside and leaching away.  

I dispel the thought.

"Your next class is within the hour.  Will you be…capable…of going there yourself?"  

He looked at me, considering.  

I wonder if he knew what I was suggesting.

Yes, I shouldn't be a party to it.  But he needs to…trust someone, anyone—and the ends justify the means.  I am Slytherin, after all.  

Damn Dumbledore, because it seems I've been elected.  

Damn the boy for showing no signs of even considering anyone else.

In a stronger voice, he answers me—"Yes."

I've just given him carte blanc to do as he like for almost an hour.

He surprises me though.  

He remains at his bench, just sitting, staring into space.  

I shudder to think of what he's contemplating.  My left goes to my right arm, where I trace faint past pains, echoing still.  

"Professor."  

"What is it, Potter?"  

"I—I…I don't want to go to my next class, it's McGonnagal, and with the rest of the House and I'd rather—"

"Yes…they were particularly…brutal towards you today."  

I'm nothing if not blunt.  

I consider his request.  

McGonnagal would dislike it, which is a plus.  Dumbledore may or may not approve—he's been finicky of late.  The next class were third years, Hufflepuff weaklings and Ravenclaw aspirers.  Merlin save me.

Perhaps…yes.  "Alright, Potter.  But you won't just sit there.  I need a simple healing potion, perhaps you won't botch it too badly.  Page 189, starting at the bottom of the page."  

He gets his ingredients, starts to prepare them.  Nothing needs to be cut with a knife, though some of the ingredients would send him to peace all too quickly…

He works quietly.  

The third years enter, glancing curiously at their fallen hero—the story had been spread throughout the school, growing with each telling.  

"Get to work, ten points from each House for dawdling!"  Ah, that felt good.  

Potter smirks at me, then returns to his cauldron. 

Perhaps there's hope for him yet.

Ok, not what I was going for, but I feel bad about not updating as often as I'd like, and this was more a filler chapter than anything else, though I'd pay attention to some of things hinted at…

Anyway, hope you enjoyed!

Remember, updates at my yahoo group—see my profile for the addy.

Happy reading!  Hopefully the next will be longer and better.


	9. Wanted: Blade

Disclaimer:  ::sniffles:: Not mine.

Claimer:  Um…don't want to claim my car…how about my fish?

Wanted:  Blade  

Damn it.

Why did they have _him_ escort me to Herbology?

Didn't they know he _hated_ me!  Absolutely despised me.  

Said I was coward, that I should have been capable of doing _something right_, especially after _how_ _long it took _for me to kill Voldemort.  That I should be _grateful_ to all of them, for bringing me into their world.  

Bah.

Idiotic, moronic fool.

I smiled, just the once, when he said I was acting like a Slytherin, since they were _all cowards, anyway._

Laughed at his look of shock, and disgust, when I told him that I should have been a Slytherin, but I was conniving enough to trick the Hat into allowing me my choice.  Of course, I didn't really connive—more like pleaded…nor did I trick the Hat…but he believed me!  

After been escorted very firmly to stand by a pot of…something.  I don't want to know what it was.

And the others…my supposed friends…they all stood away from me, creating a no-man land around me.  

Good.

I didn't want them to contaminate my air anyway.

And then one of the Slytherins stuck out his foot, and I tripped, and fell face-first into that pot.

Everyone was still laughing at it at lunch.

Sigh. 

I wonder when they'll let me have my blade back.

I really do miss it.

And he knows it, and he said they would take care of it, but they don't know how!  

And I really need a cut, just there.

A small, tiny one.

No one would notice.

No one would care anyway.

Just…how…c'mon Potter, think!  They won't allow you any sharp objects, and your wand's been taken from you for the moment, given a special wand designed so that the caster could not harm themselves, no matter what they cast.

What to do…what to do?

Maybe…

It's a long shot, but—

Snape was going allow me to go about myself.  Stupid—why did I stay, making a potion of all things?

Maybe he would be…generous again.

McGonnagal still wants to put me in St. Mungo's; Pomphrey agrees.

Albus, and his damned twinkling eyes, just lets them all argue about it, never saying anything.

Snape is the only one that has stated that I would be better off at Hogwarts, that St. Mungo's would do nothing for me.

I wonder why.  

If he'll later use it all against me.

And then I think to his offer of letting me go off by myself for almost an hour—why didn't I take the chance!—and think, no.  No, he wouldn't do that.

He understands.

A little.

More than the others.

But still.  He's keeping my blade from me.

The anger wells up inside me and shatter-proof windows are now tiny, glittering pieces.

The others are worried about getting hurt and scream.

Sprout's ushering us out.

I grab a piece of glass, hide it in my pocket.

No one even notices.

Sprout sends us off to our common rooms and then goes hustling off to Dumbledore's office.

Ron grabs my arm, tightly, and I wince.  

"What, don't you like pain?"  He squeezes harder.  "Pathetic!"  

I grit my teeth.

Weasley—when did he become 'Weasley' in my mind—was trying to goad me on purpose.

And I couldn't understand why.

Even when they all thought me guilty of being the Heir of Slytherin, Weasley and Hermione had stood by my side.

But now, now he was just so angry.  

Which in turn made me quite…irate.

I tried to shove away from him.  "Leave me alone!"  

Yeah, that worked.

His nails dug into my robe, through the cloth.  

They weren't sharp enough.

His 'escort' ended the moment we were inside of the DADA classroom.

Another idiotic professor.

This one liked to talk about his 'experiences' in the field, then stare at my forehead the rest of the time.

That meant fifty minutes of scar-staring.

Ugh.

I want my blade.

I tapped my fingers against the desk. 

Didn't bother with notes.  Voldemort was dead.  He wasn't coming back.

Yeah, other dark wizards still existed.

Let someone else deal with them.

I want my blade.

Silver and gleaming and sharp.

I want my blade.

It made the best fine lines of anything I used.  Most were a lot cruder…my thighs are testament to that.  That was before I learned the…_art_.

It released all the pain and anger.  It let my world become a bit more sane.

I want my blade.

Ah, good.  He's saying it's time to go, with a final stare at my scar, we're dismissed.

Ron grabs my arm again.

"Snape said you're to see him after DADA."  

Since when did Ron listen to Snape?

Then I looked a bit more closely at his face.  He didn't want to go anywhere near the dungeons.  No where near Snape's office.

"You don't have to come with me, you know."

"Yes, I do."

"Oh, come on, Ron!  It's only a bit further away from here.  And I don't need a minder."  No…I need my blade.

He was divided, I could tell.

"Fine then.  Go on."  Well, he certainly made up his mind quickly.  

I wasn't going to debate it.  Before he could change his mind, I was gone.

Now where to go?

Snape's office?  No.

His is the only one remotely deserving of consideration.

No.

I wonder where they put my blade.

Enough for now, yes?  It's my longest chapter yet, I think, in this little series.  Alas, no song for this one.  

Updates at yahoogroup, addy in my profile.

Review Responses

kateydidn't—Thanks.  And see ch. 8 for my explanation as to why the Gryffindors are acting as they are.

Noddy—glad I'm evoking the responses I want grins Thank you much.  And yes, I've got great Muses, when they're behaving.

Illusoire—sorry about the lengths of chapters…some are longer than others, some need to be longer.  Anyway, as far as him defeating Voldemort, yep.  It's mentioned throughout the chapters, but mostly subtly.  

Wink at J00—Snape's view is fun, isn't it?  grins  And yes, your song will be used…when I get to that point.  At least two more chapters before it though, hope you can be patient with me.  And I totally understand that dark depressing fics help…one of the reasons why I'm writing it.  I inspired you to write fics?  Cool, you'll have to let me know when you post 'em.  Writing, at least the way I do, is mostly based from RL stuff.  I wasn't a cutter, but yeah, I've thought of it.  Mostly during the times that I've talked to my friend who is a cutter…and well, that's mildly disturbing.  Anyway.  Hope you continue to like it!  Finals are awful, aren't they?  At least they're done, and I passed them all with relatively flying colors.  And I'm glad you like the way I describe things…some of my descriptions gave my creative writing prof fits.  grins

Crystal—wow. grins  Thanks much.  I'm glad you liked the Houses reactions; I thought it very…appropriate.

Esperanza—I try to throw in things that throw the readers a bit.  Makes it more interesting that way.  The Slytherins think of him as they always did—St. Potter, Perfect Potter, and most of all, a dreaded Gryffindor.  But they're also curious as to why he's done what he has, and that will play more into the story later on.  

Krystal Diamond—Thanks.  And yes…you should definitely listen to "Love Me Back to Life."  Absolutely…amazing, really.  As far as the dark poem of the fic, go for it.  As long as you don't copy line by line, cause a lot of this I see really as prose poetry.  But have fun with it.  I know I am.  Thanks for all the songs too…I'll probably end up using some of them.  Not sure how many more chapters will have songs in them though. 

Myrhfire—I try to update as soon as possible…and hopefully will have another chapter soon after this one.

Amelia—hopefully the glue didn't itch too much grins One of the best compliments I've gotten.  Thanks much.

Jes—thanks.  And yes, just a bit morbid grins but entirely necessary.

kerry—I hope that you don't cut anymore…my friend has since the time he cut too deep (which is when we all found out about it), so it still worries me.  I'm glad that you're liking the story.

Lady SallyRose—thanks!  

Elf Princess Bloom—I'm glad that you still like it…and the best you've ever read?  notice shocked face I'm flattered that you think so.  And if it were legal, you'd pay me?  Wow.  Want to try to convince my poetry publishers?  Or sell my original fics?  grins  Thanks so much!  Hopefully this update's soon enough.  As far as the hint, it's really throughout the whole of the fic, just more subtle.  It's there if you look hard enough.  Though this chapter will have explained it much more.

Shadowsofpain—ooh…bows back to loyal fan  grins.  Have to have some humor in it, you know.

myr—well, it depends on your perspective of action.  grins  but stuff will happen soon enough, I guarantee.  As far as getting anywhere, Harry's kind of slow on the uptake, so to speak, and is being particularly…obdurate.  

Kate the Great—Glad you like it.  And found the humor parts humorous grins  Have to relieve the tension somehow, at least occasionally.  And sarcastic humor's the greatest.  Snape's my favorite character, so to have you say that he's portrayed well, grins, thank you much.

emma—I'll most certainly continue.  And thanks, glad you like it.

Midnight-Kisses—yes, this story has a lot of factual basing, though not my life, albeit some of the feelings themselves can be applied to me.  

Thanks again to everyone for reviewing, you're awesome!


	10. Alone

Disclaimer:  Do I really have to say it's not mine?  I do?  Alright then, J.K.R. owns it, not me.

Rating:  PG-13/Rish

Warnings:  suicidal thoughts/cutting.  Short chapter.

Alone

It's strange, how they were all so concerned about me being left alone.

About how they forced Weasley to 'escort' me around.

How I was never left by myself.

I cradle the glass in my hand, feel the sharp edge.  I don't press down ahrd enough to break the skin—no, my hands have never been cut.

That's just crass.

It beckons.

No one's searching for me.

Snape's nowhere in sight.

Good.

He'd be the one.

And Weasley.

Hah.  Ponce, that one.

Thinks I betrayed him.

They all betrayed me.

All but my blade.  Which they still have.  Makes me—

A hiss.  That wasn't the most brilliant thing I've done.  A jagged line on my thumb.

I watch it bleed for a moment.

Then whisper a healing spell—don't want that line on me.

Not there.

No.  I want one…just…here…

High enough so that my sleeves cover it.

Low enough that I can touch it when I want.

Just one.

A breath in.  

That felt…so good.  Maybe just…yes.

Another one, just one more.

Yes.

I watch the blood well up.

Set the glass aside.  Breathe the pain in.  So much better.

I'll keep the glass for later, till I get my blade back.

The lines are a bit more jagged than what I like.  The flesh torn a bit more.

Ah well.

I'll find my blade.

Perhaps convince them that I'm "all better."  That I don't need St. Mungo's.

Honestly, St.  Mungo's?  For the Boy-Who-Lived(-Who-Wouldn't-Die)?

Hah.  Who says I'm not just fine the way I am?

Bloody hypocrites.

But yes.

An act.

I wonder if I could pull it off.

Must plan.  I can't let them see my newest adornment.  No, that would never do.

The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin for a reason.

Let the game begin.  

I believe we can all figure out where this one is going, yes?  Anyway, update notification at my yahoogroup, addy found in my profile.

Silly ff.net deleted some of my reviews whimpers.  Luckily, I still got the email review alert.  So, without further ado…

Review Responses

soleil-luna-day:  Yes, Gryffs can't be nice ALL the time.  That's just silly.  Narrator-Snape-stories are difficult to pull off; I'm glad that you liked it.  Thanks!

myrhfire:  grins

Nightshade Beam:  This isn't my normal sort of fic to write.  But it's my favorite that I've written for ff.net.  

Noddy:  My story compared to chocolate cake beaming  Mmm.  Chocolate cake.  K, be back to write this more in a few…Thanks!

mmm.

Anyway.  On with the responses.

Lanfear:  Thanks!  And the lyrics are great, aren't they?  grins

Phoenixfeather:  Nope, not my story.  grins  Have I said how much I love reviews?  Thanks much!  (No worries about me this story being stopped.  Not till it's complete, anyway.)

Angel of Death:  oh, there's other stories with Harry depressed.  Not quite expressed like mine, I hope.  I do like to be different.  And a convert to the idea Gryffs can be mean!  Yeah!  More blood, yes.  His blade, most definitely.

tati:  When are you going to update?  Anyway.  Glad you like the story.  Comprehensive…never thought of it that way grins.  An ending is definitely in plan.  Though, I may be persuaded from it. 

Incompetent Fool:  blushing  Thanks much!  

Shawn Pickett:  Another person who doesn't like dark fics but liked mine anyway.  grins  Wow.  Hmm…him and Hermione interaction.  Yeah, we'll get there.  

Wink At J00:  I hope you don't freak too much when I use it.  And I hope I don't ruin it for you.  Though this story is one of the easier ones I've written.  Kind of writes itself.  I absolutely love Snape; most definitely my favorite character.  Anyway.  Glad you liked the chapter!  

Shadowsofpain:  Harry is clever grins  Thanks!

Thanks again for all your reviews!!


	11. Breaking the Habit

Disclaimer: "Breaking the Habit" is owned by Linkin Park, Harry Potter by J.K.R.

Warnings: I don't believe these are really necessary anymore, but suicidal thoughts and cutting.

Dedicated to Wink At J00 for the song (I hope I don't ruin it for you!). Plus it's coming in earlier than expected.

He's there again, always whispering. Saying that it was my fault, all my fault, that my parents were dead…that Cedric was dead…that Snape was tortured.

All my fault.

I argue with him.

No, it's not my fault, it's not.

Merlin, I wish I had my blade. It could always stop the voice.

He's going on about.

On and on and on. I try closing my eyes, but the voice still lingers.

I try to think of other things.

The others found me, but they didn't see my newest scar.

They didn't even look.

Hermione tried to talk with me.

Tried to say that she "understood" and that she still wanted to be my friend.

I told her to kindly sod off.

She had the strangest look on her face.

Full of hurt…and pity?

Sympathy even.

I wish I could have talked to her.

But she doesn't understand.

I almost called her back to apologize, but then remembered the plan.

I couldn't just become miraculously "better."

No.

It might work on most of them, but Snape would suspect.

I feel for the glass still in my pocket.

It's still there.

I breathe a sigh of relief, with that one.

The others look at me strangely, but don't say anything.

He's whispering again.

Saying it's all my fault.

Murderer.

MURDERER!

But I'm not, no, I'm not.

Damn, I wish I had my blade.

But I have to resist the urge to even just use the glass again.

I've got to put the plan in action.

Got to act…'normal.'

I smile at the others.

The voice, again.

Liar, liar. Murderer.

I look down, see the blood on my hands.

The glass is still in my pocket; no one's said anything to me.

Invisible.

Lying murderer, that's what you are.

No one's looking.

I slam my fist into the mirror and the voice quiets.

Hmm. Needs a bit of reworking, but too bad, if I do say so myself.

Harry's become a bit…well, insane. I honestly didn't start off the fic to make him like that, but it just seems like it's happening anyway. Of course, he has issues, but he's not in need of St. Mungo's, really. He just has a lot of guilt, a lot of pain, a lot of sorrows. Do they still want to send him to St. Mungo's? Most definitely. Not only because of the betrayal feelings, but because they honestly think it's best for him. Only Snape really disagrees with that and Dumbledore's being Dumbledore. Sorry for those who really don't see him as manipulative but oi, I do. 'Course, I think he cares, too. Just a bit Slytherin, if you ask me. Anyway, happy reading!

Thanks for all the reviews! I'm posting two chapters at once 'cause I got fed up with and not being able to upload for almost a week, so I'm going to do so while I can.


	12. How Thick Can You Get?

Disclaimer:  sadly, HP and co. do not belong to me.  

Claimer:  Insanity and annoying Muses

Rating:  PG-13/Rish

Warnings:  Cutting, suicidal thoughts, angst.  Lots of angst.  SortaComforting!Snape, Manipulative!Dumbledore (to a degree—in Harry's mind).    

How Thick Can You Get?

The plan worked.

A month of smiling.

A month of laughing at their stupid jokes.

It took two weeks just to get back into their circle.  When I offered to be Seeker again, they were thrilled.

Imbeciles.

So now I'm chasing a small golden ball that doesn't want to be caught.

Haven't done any cutting…in a month.

No blade, no glass.

No thin, pretty lines.

No gleaming blood.

Smiling, and laughing, and acting like a bloody Gryffindor.

My face will crack one of these days, I'm certain.

And if I'm not given back my blade and taken off those stupid restrictions, I'll have to consider something more drastic.

He watches me, I've seen him.

Follows me with those blank eyes of his.

I haven't fooled him.

Not yet, at least.

But I have hopes of eventually accomplishing that.

He'll just take a little longer.

McGonnagal was so happy to have her star Seeker back.

Dumbledore, that his Savior-of-the-Wizarding-World wasn't as far gone as they all thought.

Pomphrey was only too pleased to see me in for Quidditch injuries.  I thought I'd never see that day.  

Weasley…arg.  Prattling on about those damned Cannons, on and on.

Hermione.  

Sigh.  

I don't think I've convinced her either.  

But she's starting to look like she's believing I'm "better."

Before leaving class, Snape lifts the sleeves of my robe and makes sure that I haven't made any new additions.

Bloody month.

Apparently, until he's convinced, my blade is hostage.

A flash of gold catches my eye.  This game really has gone on long enough.

A dive, the catch, applause.  Smiles and laughter greet me.  

Even the Ravenclaws are congratulatory.

Idiots.

I force myself to remember the plan.

Smiling back, muttering 'good game.'

Dunderheads.

They can't see what's right before them.

They're blinded by themselves.

So caught up in their own petty existences, so worried about Quidditch and whatever else now that old Moldy-wort is gone.

They've forgotten what's gone before.

Forgotten all those that have died…or been tortured…or who still grieve.

Idiots, worried about catching a golden snitch, when they can't even see it.  

But I'm making myself upset again, and I mustn't do that.  

Must ignore the voice yelling "Murderer!" in my ear.

Must ignore the way my blood is humming, wanting to be let out.

Must act like I'm alright.  

That nothing's wrong.

That I'm 'better.'

Yes.  

I go off to the Gryffindor common room; must celebrate with them all, the ponces.

Sigh.

Hermione's trying to corner me into talking.

And I wish I could talk to her, really, I do.

She wouldn't understand.

No.  

Snape, maybe.  A little.  

He understands pain, if nothing else.

I've hidden the glass; it's in my trunk.  Protected from prying eyes through a variety of charms.

But I mustn't give in to temptation.  

Snape still suspects.

What would convince him?  

Must think of that.

"Harry!"  

The voice startles me from my thoughts.

"Yes?"  A quiet reply.  But at least I now respond to them, much to my regret.

"You're missing the celebration!"

Ah yes.  

Quidditch.  I'd forgotten.

I return to their party and find it completely meaningless.

OK…can't write anymore on this chapter.  It's getting left as is—maybe you wonderful people can help me improve it?  There are parts I like, but the chapter as a whole…ah well, I'm looking forward to the next chapter with Snape in it and am therefore rushing.  Sorry about that.  When I edit the story upon completion, I'll work on this one more.

Note:  no actual St. Mungo's officials were killed in the writing of this chapter.  One has a broken arm as he was about to cart Harry and me off to the psych ward, but we managed to avoid that.  

Fic search…in need of happy fics.

            Happy fics may include Slytherin!Harry, Snape-saves-Harry, Snape-as-father (may be Severitus challenge or just adoptive), Harry-turned-into-baby/young child, Harry-raised-by-someone-other-than-the-Dursley's, time-traveling!Harry, AlternateUniverse!Harry, or similar fics, or combo of above.  Now, when I say "happy" it doesn't mean that they can't have any angst in them or sad/dark stuff.  I don't mind that.  I've got a weird sense of what "happy" is.  grins  Thanks!  You can either leave a review with your suggestions or email me at SilentTowr@AOL.com.  

Mind if I rant awhile?  No?  Good.  Those that do, skip on down and review if you'd like to or not if you don't.  I warn you now, it's complete drivel, and probably not something you'll wish to read.  

Ranting…now.

Anybody understand why people subject themselves to an AU when they know they don't like deviation from canon?  

Anybody know why people think that any fanfic isn't a deviation from canon?  After all…none of us are J.K.R. or anyone else but ourselves.  So how is that we're supposed to write like her or anyone else?  Now, I haven't had probs with HP and AU's, but I got so disgusted with some of the reviews left on a BtVS/KtE/Charmed/Highlander/OC story that I removed it, even though most of the reviews were good and encouraging.  At least I finally finished the fic.  And personal attacks…arg.  Say what you will about my writing, my style, even the fact that I write AU's, but arg.  Making assumptions about me—or anyone else for that matter—only makes the assumer an ass.  And annoys the heck out of whoever was being insulted.  

And then to be told to remove the story based on someone else abandoning a story…ugh.  I like to think of myself as an individual; not to be lumped into a category simply because a fic doesn't get updated in a month or so.  Sorry, but I've got a little thing called a life, which I quite enjoy.  

Not to mention that I'm recovering from surgery and as such, it makes me a bit snappy and altogether more irritable.  'Course the fact that the surgery was months ago and I'm still not better is just plain annoying me.  Ah well.

End rant.   Hope you didn't actually subject yourselves to it.  Just needed to get it out of my system.  


	13. Oh, That Much

Disclaimer:  The wonderful J.K. owns Harry Potter and co.  

Claimer:  mmm…shark slippers.

Rating:  PG-13/Rish

Warnings:  Cutting, suicidal thoughts.  Angst.  And more angst.  And have I mentioned angst?  

Sorry, short, short chapter.  

I'll have to come back and add on later, but it's been awhile since I posted, so I'm putting this up as is now, as it can stand on its own, even if nothing is really happening too much.  More of a basis for future events…

Oh, That Much

Infuriating boy.

His arms have remained cut-free for the past month.  

He smiles and laughs with his 'friends.'

Has even re-joined the Quidditch team.

He's playing us all for fools.  

I know that he hasn't become miraculously better.

There is no miracle cure.

The way he's playing at 'being better'…the way they all believe him…I could almost say that he was a Slytherin at heart.

And promptly push away that thought.  Harry-Potter-the-Boy-Who-Lived, in Slytherin, of all places, would surely have sent the wizarding world into calamity.  

No, best that he's among the…noble ones.

The ones that before had ridiculed him, angry at his choices.  Forgetting the little fact that Voldemort was gone at his hands, for good.

Forgetting the deaths, the pain, the misery.

Yes, it was better that he was among them.

Better for whom I will not admit, not even to myself.

At the end of each lesson, I wait to see the thin lines that previously marred his skin.

Each time, I remove all concealing charms.  

And am consistently surprised that there was nothing to conceal.

"You don't need to check me anymore.  I'm fine."  

Surely he isn't so foolish as to believe that I'd fall for that.

"Potter, as much as it inconveniences me to do such a chore, you are not being released from your restrictions.  They still stand.  You will be checked."  

Of course, we've only been checking his arms, as that was where all the scars were.  His blade hadn't kissed any other areas.  

The notion that he would move on to a different region was there, but instinct told me he wouldn't wish to alter his ritual.

Yet still, the thought remained.  

Speaking to Albus lately had been nothing but riddles.  McGonnagal was just happy that her star seeker/Gryffindor Golden Boy was behaving as they expected and therefore, unable to help.  Poppy still maintained that he should have been sent to St. Mungo's for evaluation, and treatment, but now, with his façade firmly in place, had retreated from that previous stance.

Weasley would laugh and make jokes and had remained his self.  Had steadfastly ignored the dead look in his 'best friend's' eyes.  

Granger…she hadn't been completely fooled by the act.  

He smiles even with the shadows.  

Infuriating boy.  

When will he believe that it's ok _not_ to be ok?

Sorry it was short.  I've had a lack of inspiration for all of my stories at the moment.  I've been trying to write a paper and do data analysis so it's been a bit hectic lately.  Sorry again. 

Review responses:

damita chan:  thanks!  With this story, especially, I want to be as realistic as possible…it's kind of difficult sometimes to achieve that realism, but I try. 

Mihoshe:  thanks!  Sorry it took awhile for this update.

Xirleb70:  well, I did get the chapter up within a few days of it grins.  Ooh…camping!  I haven't done that for awhile now.  I'm actually making a spreadsheet of all suggestions and stuff that I've read for the past year or so (had sad is that??).  Anyway, if you want, I'll email the copy to you.  First though—any pairings (at all!) that you object to?  I'll delete those from your version if you want.  Or if you don't want paired fics at all…However, I haven't put in the ratings, and yes, I'm a bad girl and read NC-17 fics.  Though some of them should be rated less and some of the PG stuff should be more…anyway, let me know (that goes for anyone else willing to read through the responses).  Glad you didn't subject yourself to the whole rant…cause it was, without a doubt, on the cranky side.

AineRose:  well, another Snape part, though a tad short and lacking action…but thank you so much.  

myrhfire:  grins  sorry, no real action in this part!

Morauko:  I like angsty stuff too—it happens to go under my "happy" category, oddly enough—anyway.  Glad you like it!

Firebreath:  Thanks much!

Madamukiraa:  Glad you're enjoying and hope you continue to do so!

Kryptonite:  Thank you, your review made me feel better.  Thanks much!

REALbluelightsaber:  Nope, Snape won't be Harry's father in this one.  As much as I like those stories, there's too many of them that are basically the same and unless I can think of a different twist, I doubt I'll venture into it.  Of course, I may live to eat my words on that one.  Besides, I really don't think Harry can handle much more, do you?  Sorry that he's scaring you…frankly, he's a bit frightening in my mind, but that tells you what my mind is like.  Anyway, thanks much!

Dante:  No truer words…angst is good for the soul, most definitely.  Though I do feel that Harry's getting more than his fair share.  Your comments made me blush grins

twinangels:  hope you continue to like it.

Celeb Ryu:  thanks for the song suggestion, I may/may not use it.  There's…two…planned songfic chapters left.  After that, if I can find one that fits, yeah, I not, ah well.  Glad you enjoy it!

Noddy:  I was thinking the same, after reading Order of the Phoenix…but the person that dies in that won't die in this.  Harry has enough to handle.  

kerry:  AU:  Alternate Universe.  Often confused with alternate reality (which in my twisted world are two different things, but probably interchangeable).  No worries, it took me the longest time to figure out what MWPP meant.  ::Shakes her head:: silly me.  Anyway, thanks much!

Rainbow Glitter:  Grins  not so little, but thanks!  And yes, that story is awesome, really want another update on it, and then a sequel or two would be nice…thanks for the rec!

Dark Peppermint:  glad you think it's realistic.  I'm definitely trying for the realism factor in this fic.  grins  my style annoys more than you, I assure you of that!  But really…I can't see writing this in any other way.  

Angel of Death:  Snape, fooled?  Never!  Vampires are great, really like Vampire: the Masquerade…so wish that Kindred:  the Embraced was still on air.  ::sighs and grumbles about motorcycle accidents::  Anyway.  Feist is the best in fantasy, I'd say.  Or one of the best.  With Margaret Weis following closely behind with Piers Anthony and a variety of others taking the next spots.  Robert Jordan's good.   Can't remember who wrote the wayfarer redemption…I'm not sure if I've read that one or not…hm.   

And from those that emailed…

HPFreak2526:  Thanks again for the fic recs!  I really appreciate them.  

vinnie:  blushing still  thank you so much.  Wow.  I'm still amazed Grins  And the fics that I hadn't read yet were great, and the ones I had read I had forgotten about most of them, so thanks again!  


	14. And So It Is

Disclaimer:  J.K.R. owns Harry Potter and co.  

Well, the song I was planning for this chapter just wouldn't work.  I tried.  The song, in case you're wondering, is Metallica's "The God That Failed."  So it's a lot different than what I planned on writing.  

Ah well.  

So, I had three weeks to write.  Then my computer crashed and it had to be sent in for repairs, but it's back, so hopefully I'll be able to write something.  And I didn't lose much, as I've gotten neurotic about saving things to disk.  

And So It Is

Two months.

They've fallen for it.

It took a lot of "heart to heart" talks with Hermione--she was the last of them to believe me, but now even she thinks that everything's gold. 

Except for him, the greasy git that he is.

Why did they have to make him the one who decides what I'm allowed to do?  That I'm "cured"?

I've searched for my blade, falling short of using my cloak to go into their offices.

Dumbledore took that long ago, and until _he_ gives the okay, I'm not allowed to have it.

My father's cloak.  My blade.  

They take everything from me.

"Potter, ten points from Gryffindor for your lack of attention!"  

Greasy git.

I glare at him, wishing that I was allowed to have my blade.  

I've been itching to use the glass that I've hidden in the bottom of my trunk.  My "friends" no longer watch over me, waiting for me to do something.  

Only the git.

And he can't watch over me all the time.  

That'd be near impossible.

Yes, no one is expecting anything, anymore, except for him.  

How foolish they all are, to believe that three months of being watched over, of being 'happy,' of doing as they expect, would make me feel any better.

People are still dead.  

Nothing's changed.  

No miracles.

No heroes.

Just…nothing.

I go to my classes, absently write notes to make my deceptions plausible, sleep, eat, play Quidditch.  

But it's for nothing.  

What does it matter?  

"Harry!  Are you coming?"  

The clock is pointing to "five minutes before dinner."  

"Just a minute…I'll meet you in the common room."  

"Alright."  

Red hair disappears.  Thank Merlin I am no longer required to have someone in the room with me…just near.  

Everyone is gone.

I reach into my trunk, lift clothes and books out of the way.  

Finger the sharp glass reverently.  

Caress the smooth sides, gently pressing on the sharper side.  Not hard enough to cut, but the pain is there.  

The blood calls to me.  

Three months without it have made me…ravenous for a taste.  

Just a little pain, just a little blood.

Not on my arms; too obvious, and then my abstinence will have been for nothing.  Snape, checking me every day.  

Something that could be more easily explained…yes.  

I push my socks down.  

Yes.  

A slight pain, but the blood wells.  

Not the best site, but it'll do.  

I return my glass to its hiding spot, pull up my sock, and go down to the common room.  

They're waiting.  

AN:  Well now, a bit of action…the next chapter will have more.  Grins  But I think I'll leave what will happen as a secret for now.

Review responses:  

Xirleb70:  hope you got the spreadsheet ok, as that was about the time when my computer started going nutty.

Firebreath:  grins  Hope you continue to like it!

epholge:  diabolically evil?  Hmm…some would agree with you...Glad you liked it!

evilrabbit2:  Nope, not mean at all.  Kind of hit the nail on the head with that, really.  Cause I was stalling…though sorta building up to something.  When I wrote this, it was supposed to be a one-shot fic.  It didn't work out that way, but even when I decided to continue it, I didn't have a definite plan set out for me.  These last few chapters have been a reflection of that.  However, I do have some chapters mapped out, now, and what I think will be the end.  (I hope!)  

Me:  I'll try to update at least once a month, but sometimes, the writing time/inspiration just isn't there.  The sequel to Dark Secret will be up…sometime.  I thought it'd be two weeks ago, but that didn't happen.  There are a lot of issues with DS itself that if I continue with the original DS may cause problems in its sequel, Dark Revelations.  I don't know, depends on if DS stays the same or changes.  If it changes, DR will take much longer to get out.  Anyway, I'll let my group know when it's posted.  As it stands now, I've written a little over three-quarters of chapter 1 of Dark Revelations.

Noddy:  Thanks!  Yes…lack of inspiration equals shorter chapters, but the ice cream makes up for it…

Mihoshe:  Snape's probably my favorite character in the series; I hope I do his character justice.

Engelen:  I hope that he remains IC.  But thanks much!  Ah, my Ron tends on the shallow side, really.  I think of him as a "fair-weather friend" in this story, but not in others.  He really hasn't gone back to normal…but you'll see that later.  Hermione waited awhile, but she has a perceptive nature that is just itching to break through.  Analyzing is fun…but that's the scientist in me.  Hope the wait was worth this chapter grins  Thanks much!

christine:  ah…sometimes, more guts than brains.  It took me a long time to get the courage, actually, to write this story, as it does come close to some of my friend's own experiences, and really, some of my own thoughts.  I think that the only thing that really stopped me was the fact that I hate the site of my own blood.  I'm glad that you feel that it's believable.

myrhfire:  action…well, a little in this chapter grins  MUCH more in the next, if all goes as planned.

EriEka127:  Yep, he still has the glass.  Not able to go anywhere by himself, yet.  He's allowed to stay alone in a room, but someone has to escort him there and stick close by.  You're very close to one of the plotlines I thought of taking.  Glad you like it!

Rubberduckie713:  Glad you like it!  Thanks much!  Hope this came out soon enough for you…And yes, I'll definitely keep writing, enough to finish my established stories thus far.

Dark Peppermint:  Thanks!

PhoenixPadfoot89:  Thanks!

Tears of Eternity:  Nope, Snape's a very difficult man to fool.  And resorting back to his usual ways…well, he's started in this chapter.  He'll become increasingly so in the next chapters.  

Elf Princess Bloom:  Glad you think so! Thanks!

Just Me:  Pain and Harry seem a likely combination.  Thanks!

Celeb Ryu:  Thanks much!  I'll try to fit it in, but songfics aren't working out for me anymore.  

phoenixfeather:  Glad you decided to review; I love hearing what people think.  Thanks much!  

Moose:  Grins  Thanks!  I've done the whole forgetting what my password is before; very annoying.  Realism in the HP fan fiction world, definitely needs some of it.  

Lanfear1:  Thanks!  

Again, thank you all!!  Update notification at my yahoo group; addy's in my profile.   


	15. Remembrance

Disclaimer:  Own it?  Surely, you must be kidding.  Or perhaps you've tasted one of Longbottom's potions…that'd make you delusional.

Warnings:  Cutting, suicidal thoughts.  Angst.  Un-betaed.  The usual.

Sorry this took so long…had to hunt Harry down.  Seems someone took him off in a burlap sack and that left him a bit bruised.  

Thank you for each and every one of your reviews!  I love them all.  

Remembrance

I'm so tired of playing their game.  

Tired of upholding their pretenses.  Sick and disgusted that they will follow one routine, all their lives, never changing.  Having only a bare minimum of expectations placed on them and a hell of a lot of "honor" for being placed in their noble House.  For being in the House that the Boy-Who-Lived was in.  Regardless of their actions, they'll be seen as the pure ones, the noble ones, the trustworthy.

Yes.  Gryffindor, foolhardy and quick to jump, reckless, uncaring of consequences.

Slytherin had been a choice, of course.  But living for seven years in the same dormitory with Malfoy would have driven me mad.

Of course, if my acting was ever discovered, I'd be labeled quite mad.  

Or perhaps not.  

It wouldn't do to have the famous Boy-Who-Lived-To-Kill-Voldemort in St. Mungo's.  

Snape saved me from that once, when the rest had thought it would be the best possible choice for me.  

And now he's the bane of my existence.  

Always poking over my shoulder, always waiting in the wings, always checking to make sure I haven't harmed myself.

My ankle throbs, reminding me.  

I'm going to find my blade tonight.  

Regardless of the consequences.  It is mine, not theirs.  They had no right to take it from me.  No right at all.  

I've told them, time and again, that it wasn't a suicide attempt.

They looked at me as if that was worse.  

No matter.  I will find my blade tonight.

And then?  I haven't gotten that far, honestly.  

The wizarding world no longer suits me, if it ever really did.

I like magic, yes.  It's awfully handy in most circumstances.  

But do I like it enough to stay in a world that sees me as their Savior-From-Whatever-Evil-Lurks?  

Hermione's babbled about understanding, but I've no illusions that she understands anything about me.  Encyclopedias, yes.  The real world…no, not really.  She'll forever be lost to her books, though Ron'll be there to pull her into reality once in awhile.

My invisibility cloak isn't available to me anymore—Dumbledore struck again, though he says that it will be returned when Snape allows it.

I've asked countless times why Snape was given the duty of babysitter over me; no replies to that, ever.  

The greasy git was on my side for awhile, but now he's changed.  

No one but me and my blade anymore.

The way it should be.  

But how to find my precious blade without anyone finding me?  Without me being stopped.  I'll hex whoever stops me.  

No more of this…this…pandering to their expectations, their whims, their wants. 

No.  

Now it's going to be something for me.  

My blade.  

*      *      *

The boy's planning something.  

I'm unsure as to what—he hasn't made any attempts of finding his beloved blade, hasn't cut himself in three months (that we know of), hasn't been moody or angry with anyone.  

Except for me of course, as I haven't been taken in by his performance.

Granger has truly taken a leave of her senses to believe that he no longer feels the same way that he did scant three months ago.

Potter sits at his assigned bench; he's turned around so that he can talk with his silly Gryffindor friends.

"Potter!  Silence.  Ten points from Gryffindor."  

He doesn't say anything, just gives me a glare which I return in kind. 

"Today you will all be working by yourselves.  I want absolute silence, is that understood?  When you are done, raise your hand and we shall test your potion on a volunteer.  Page 450 in your texts."  

They look at me with their vapid expressions.   

"What are you all waiting for?  Begin!  The ingredients won't gather themselves."

Back to the matter at hand.  Potter.

I'm constantly astounded by the sheer idiocy that members of the staff and student body exhibit daily.  

Potter hasn't made an attempt in three months, so he's not likely to cause himself harm.  

The fools.  They truly do not understand how anyone would wish to harm themselves.  They don't comprehend the simple fact that once an attempt is made, another is likely to follow unless they are treated.  St. Mungo's was an option, but institutional care should be the last resort in Potter's case.  

The boy honestly believes that no one else could possibly have as much pain as he does.  That no one understands, or ever will.  

An explosion interferes with my reverie.  "Longbottom!  Twenty points and a detention with Filch tonight."  

The boy's ruined yet another perfectly good cauldron and has devastated the potions supply cupboard yet again.  How anyone would think that a good idea would be adding capisola to hellesbore.  The elements of each were harmless on their own, except for hellesbore being a mild poison, but added together…foolish, bumbling boy.  

At least soon, there will be no more Longbottoms to teach.

Until next year with some new first year who could be as bad or worse.  I shudder at that thought.  

The class is almost finished.  

"Potter.  Stay behind." 

He glares at the dictate.  

"Yes, Professor Snape."  Venom practically oozing in his tone. 

My Slytherins laugh at him.  Except one.  

"Silence!  Return to your potions, the class is not yet over until you've been dismissed."  With Voldemort truly gone, I could care less what the sons and daughters of the living Death Eaters report to their parents.  The ones that were truly a concern have dead parents, as all were given the Kiss.

Finally, my sojourn into Hell is complete.  "As no one completed their potions, we will have to return to this particular one later.  Dismissed."  

The Gryffindors rush out like cattle.  The Slytherins are in equal hurry to leave, but less obvious.

Potter is sitting at his bench, clearly perturbed.

"Alright, Potter.  Your arms."  

He thrusts them under my nose almost savagely.  "See.  No cuts.  No new scars.  Why can't you leave me alone?  I don't even have my blade anymore!"  

His fists are clenched at his sides now.  Clearly in an effort to contain himself.

"Why, Potter?  Why do you think?  There are things to cut yourself with other than a blade and I wouldn't put it past you to try."  

"What do you know about it, huh?  Why do you even bloody care?!  Why can't you just leave me alone."  The last wasn't a question.  

Almost without thinking, I push the sleeve of my robe up and shove my own arm at him.  

He blinks, startled.  

"Why do I check you, regardless of what you say?  _Because I know what it's like to want to use anything…do anything…to leech out the pain, the agony.  _That is why, Potter.  Now leave."  

He backs away, pale and confused.  Good, something for him to think about.

The next thought…Merlin…what have I done?  Because the arm I showed him was not the one that had the Dark Mark.  

No, there are things darker than even that.

I showed him my own scars.

I pull the sleeve down in an effort to forget, but I can trace some of the harsher lines even through the cloth.  

And remember.

Well then.  You now know some of Snape's past.  More to follow, of course.  Sorry this took so long to get out—I've been sick (just a cold but lingering), busy with work (fun stuff, working on a new experiment!), and just general life stuff.

Review responses next go around, as I'm sure you'd rather read the chapter now than have to wait for me to answer them all, yes?  

Any suggestions as to songs are greatly appreciated—I may or may not use them, depends on the inspiration.  Also, someone's noted the distinct lack of Malfoy in the story...honestly, he's difficult to write.  I have his story going through this in my head, just haven't written any of it.  I'm afraid he'd be completely OOC.  But, if even just some of you want him in, I'll do my best to write him.  If at all possible.  

Updates at my yahoogroup—addy in my profile.  The spreadsheet of fics is also up there too, for anyone who's curious.  


	16. The Hunter's Capture

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Claimer: insanity

Warnings: The usual. 

Other ramblings: Recently, I've been on a Forever Knight kick (darn SciFi and their marathons, which really, I was happy to see). If anyone knows of any good, long FK stuff, I'll be forever grateful. I'm a UFer, for the most part, and I read G to NC-17. Of course, I'll read just about anything, but I'd like serials or longer fics. Thanks!! 

The Hunter's Capture

I was still reeling from the shock.

Snape!

Snape was a cutter…just like me.

Snape, of all people. It seemed impossible.

Why would Snape cut? 

Why…show me the scars?

My glimpse of Snape's arm revealed a map of pain. Each path, traced in white and glaring scar tissue. 

There weren't any new cuts—those lines were years old. Decades, perhaps. 

Why did Snape cut?

And more…important…how did he stop?

No matter.

Tonight, I will find my blade. They aren't going to keep it from me any longer. 

Do these people ever sleep? I can't hardly go out there without my Invisibility Cloak (which_ he_ has) if they're not asleep. 

Ah. Fingernails dig into my palms. 

Alright, I'm relaxed now. I can wait. They can't stay awake forever.

The seconds and minutes tick by, agonizingly slow. 

The room's silent. Everyone's in bed, but no one's snoring yet.

Finally! A cacophony of snoring, I can go out. 

I'll have to be careful, of course, but it's time for me to be reunited with my savior.

Creeping towards the common room, I hope that everyone is gone. Must by a lucky day, since no one's there. 

The Fat Lady yawns as I let myself out. 

Now, down to the dungeons, to his office. That must be where he's kept it hidden.

I almost run into Filch, but he goes in the other direction, mumbling under his breath. 

I reach his office. Now, how to open it? 

A simple "Alohomora" isn't going to work, I figure, but it's something to try. I have to be careful though—he probably has alarms set, and I'll only get one try at it. 

I wish I'd brought the glass down with me—even if it's unrefined, and rather crass—it'd help me think. 

Nails dig into my palms again. They aren't sharp enough by half, but they're something. 

Maybe…but surely he'd not be so foolish as to leave it open? It shouldn't set off any alarms either; I don't think wizards have the muggle-equivalent of motion detectors. But maybe they do. But I don't care. I can hear it, calling to me. 

I can't take too much more time—eventually, someone's going to notice I'm out of bed, or Filch or Snape himself will come by. 

I try the door…it opens easily. 

I squelch my excitement in order to find my blade. I wonder where he's hidden it? His desk? A shelf? 

His desk, I decide. A shelf is too open. 

I rummage for a moment, it's not there! 

Footsteps. And a light, coming through the crack of the door. 

"Looking for this?" 

I jump and turn slowly. Did I do something in a previous life?

Snape, standing with his arms crossed, glaring at me. My blade dangling carelessly in one hand. 

"Be careful with it!" He's not holding it correctly. He's not treating it as it deserves. 

He looks at me incredulously. "Perhaps you care to rephrase that, Mr. Potter? Or could you possibly explain what you are doing in my office, past curfew, looking through my drawers?" 

Now that he mentions it, no, not really. I want my blade. I want to be anywhere but here. I want my parents back, my friends who've died. I want to kill Voldemort all over again. But no, I don't want to explain myself.

"I'm waiting."

I shrug. "You obviously think you know why I'm here. What does it matter what I say?" 

"Your blade, of course. A few cuts, to make yourself feel better amidst the pain? Three months is a long time to go." 

I almost yell at him, what does he know about it. And then I stare at his right arm. 

"Yes, you remember that, don't you? Not why you're here, or what you were going to do…selective memories can be quite difficult…but you do remember that." 

"I just want it back. It's mine. Why can't I have it? Hasn't it been enough?"

"When you no longer crave it, then yes, that will be enough. But for now, no."

"I'm alright now, you've seen!" Ignoring the fact that we're having this conversation because I tried to recover what is mine.

"Oh, you're far from alright, Potter. You hate everything; you do what we expect so we'll leave you alone. You hide behind that hideous Gryffindor façade. You think we're all foolish twits that can be won over by your display. Manipulative, but not quite worthy of Slytherin. A Slytherin wouldn't have made it so obvious, if anyone cared to look." 

"You can't keep my possessions from me…my father's Cloak and my blade." 

"You say that as if you actually believe it. A student who has harmed themselves is not allowed to keep such tools that will allow them to continue it. And though everyone has been fooled by your performance, that fact remains" 

"Why won't you let me have it? You know what it's like!" And I turn towards the door, ready to flee. What's he going to do anyway, detention, take points? I could care less about that. 

"And that, Mr. Potter, is exactly why I won't let you have them back."

I leave before he can say anything else.

Wow. It's been a long time since I've updated. My sincere apologies. This topic got a little too close to home again, for awhile, and really, still is. But I promise that I will finish it, regardless of that. It's taking a different turn now, but that's alright. This didn't have a plot to begin with, as it was a one-shot, but I think there's something resembling a plot in there somewhere. Maybe. I'll let you be the judges.

Review Responses:

Tati1: glad you enjoyed. Yep, that was me. But I'm still a tad confused on that part—I don't think—in my mind, which is a scary place anyway—that it's very clear that Flitwick was praising both of them. That's why I thought she'd be glowering, rather than glowing. Probably just me though. Still, a good fic. 

Xirleb70: ouch! 4000+ lost. Glad you liked the spreadsheet. 

PhoenixPadfoot89: He's never really stopped being tempted…but yes…he's definitely on the brink of something. 

Engelen: I think it's the nature of the story that makes each of the chapters short. That, or I'm lazy grins. Nope…Snape'd never say a good thing about a Gryff…especially in this fic. He's rather disgusted with the lot of em. Cold's almost gone, but at least I'm writing again.

Magami: well, it wasn't quite a quick update, but hope you enjoyed.

Obsidianpoet: Love your handle! More of Snape's past, definitely. Song suggestions are always welcome…hmm…Green Day…I think I can work with that one…

Erieka127: No, not really that close. I've since turned from that thread, though I do like the idea of it. I may go back to it, but not for awhile. Sorry the chapters are coming out slower.

Noddy: please, Harry!angst is fun, tell me about it. Do share. I'm no longer in school, so no worries about that, but work has been a tad hectic. 

Celeb Ryu: Thanks! Glad to know someone picked up on Snape and his own cutting issues. I was very subtle, I think, with that. 

Mella deranged: oh, very angsty. Thrive on it.

Sammy: Thanks!

Karyn: I'll consider them. I've had issues with getting the songs to work with what I write, lately, but I'll always welcome suggestions.

ParanoiaIn2005: Interesting handle. And yes, very dark and disturbed. I think it fits fairly well with HP canon, and have always wondered myself why he wasn't just a tad more dark in the books…and then I remember the target age range, and we mustn't frighten the kiddies grins

Sweetyspy05: glad you like it 

Tears of Eternity: Malfoy really is a difficult character for this particular story, and I make no promises, but I'll try to put him in. Don't kill me if it isn't pretty grins

Gothic angel of death: Thanks! Yes, terribly addicting, even after years of going without. Or so I thought. Anyway, keep enjoying.

Nelum: Thanks!

Evilrabbit2: Hehe, I love surprising people. And this chapter answers some of those questions, so yeah. 

…: well, it wasn't exactly quick, but it's here.

Liseli vanida-kateb: Glad you found me again! I got tired of a "1" being after my name. Dark prose poetry is the best, isn't it? Though not all of this can be classified as such, still, I love poetry and try to incorporate some of that into my other writings. I'll definitely give it a chance. Love Slytherin Harry fics.

Again, thank you to all! Updates at my yahoogroup, addy in my profile. 


	17. Let's Make A Date

Disclaimer:  I own nothing of Harry Potter.

Warnings:  the usual.

Other ramblings:  For those who don't know, Rift Walker, my Harry Potter/Riftwar Saga crossover, was pulled by ff.net admin.  It's still posted in my yahoo group files, but no where else.  My 'uploading privileges' were revoked for awhile.  Kind of annoyed, but I will continue to write RW, just to finish it.  

Also:  Check out "Experimental," my BTL universe HP/SS s&m, knifeplay-oriented test chapter.  It may be the future of the slashy version of BTL.  I need your opinions on it, please.  It's not complete, but I don't want to write anymore if people don't want it.  Though I may continue it in a different arc.  Do NOT read if you're easily offended or afraid of blood.  It's not overtly sexual, or violent.  But it may turn people off.  Be forewarned.  

I've decided the outcome of BTL.  It will split in two DIFFERENT directions.  One will be slashy.  The other will not be.  I'll eventually post them under two different titles (Back to Life Version 1, Back to Life Version 2).  Version 1 will contain the slash, at least, what I can write of it.  I don't know how graphic it'll be—probably hard R.  Version 2 will NOT be slash, though there will be some mentorship, that I've already built into the chapters.  It will stay PG-13/Rish.  Don't know when I'll diverge yet…but it will be coming.

SHORT chapter ahead.  Boring one, IMNSHO.  It's setup and filler for the next chapter. 

And now, back to our irregularly scheduled program:

Let's Make A Date

I paced back and forth in front of the window.  I had left Snape's office in a hurry, heedless of anything he might have said.  I wanted my blade, desperately.  Wanted to feel the kiss, sliding across my arm, the blood welling to the surface, desperate to be let out, to be freed.

I'm a prisoner.  Prisoner to this…world…chained to an ever-lasting display of insincerity and politics.  

I'm their hero, their savior.  Funny how the moment that Voldie was dead…they didn't care anymore.  The bane was gone.  I had done my duty, just like I was supposed to.  Had gone up against a formidable opponent, that not even Dumbledore himself had defeated.  Because a one year old child had left their world Voldemort-free for eleven years…I was put to the task of permanently removing him.  

I close my eyes, thinking of the release a single slice would grant me.  Just one, maybe two.  It'd be enough…for now.  

They only cared so long as it suited their interests.  Dumbledore manipulated me.  The Minister was…incompetent, to say the least.  

Only one person has ever stayed the same in their actions towards me.  

Snape, the evil greasy git.  

Snape, the cutter.  

Snape, the thief of my blade.  

Snape, my…jailer.  

I want my blade.  It's all I can think about, dream about.  I want the pain, the blood, the relief it gives me.  

I search through my trunk, find the glass again.  I fiddle with it in my hands for a moment, looking at it with disgust.  It's not the best, really, but it'll do, again.  Just till my blade's returned to me.  Just until Snape believes me.  

I don't want to cut my ankle again.  It wasn't pleasant.  Not like when it's my arm.  This time, my thigh'll do.  He only checks my arms.  

Breathing in sharply, I wince.  That was...wonderful.  Not as perfect as my arm, but it works almost as well.

Another one.  A jagged X graces my skin.  I rub it, a bit, and wince again.  I close my eyes, relishing.  I need this.  

Time to get dressed and go for breakfast, not that I'm really hungry.

A few other Gryffindors are there already, but they're younger, and avoid sitting next to me.  A couple of Ravenclaws, no Hufflepuffs.  I'm surprised to see several Slytherins.  Parkinson and Malfoy.  Malfoy's goons.  Zabini.  A few others, from different years.

I cringe as Parkinson comes over, to taunt me, I'm sure.

"Psycho Potty, isn't it?  No longer Perfect, are you?  They've got a bed at Mungo's for you.  Or we could always finish the job for you."  

I ignore her.  Who cares what the little twit has to say?  

"Psycho Potty…your parents'd be ashamed."  

I clench my fists, one hand tightening on my wand.  

To my surprise, Malfoy comes over, whispers in her ear, and they go off, followed by Goyle and Crabbe.  Didn't say a word, to me.  

I shrug, continuing to push my eggs around the plate.

And cringe again when Snape enters the room.  I can feel his eyes on me, watching.  Waiting for me to flip?

But no.  He finishes his breakfast, then walks silently over to me.

So here it comes…one million points from Gryffindor and a wand snapping, at your service.

"Potter, detention, 8 o'clock tonight.  Do not be late."

Gulping a bit, I nod.  

Review responses next chapter.

With Thanksgiving, another paper, a two-week road trip, and Christmas coming up, I will be highly surprised if I write anything more before the New Year.  Then again, I may be inspired.  Who knows?  I'm still in the process of recovering my data, reinstalling programs, etc. after a computer crash two nights ago.  Strangely enough, it inspired me to write this.  A chapter that I don't particularly like, but you've all been waiting awhile.  

Let me know what you think of this chapter, 'Experimental,' and anything else you want to say.

Inspire me.

Updates at my yahoo group, addy in the profile.  


	18. Detention, pt 1

Disclaimer:  Ya, I own it.  It's all mine.

'course, I live in my own fantasy world.

Warnings:  usual.  

Rating:  PG-13/Rish.  

Shorter than what I wanted it, but the next part is in a different POV, so I decided to stop here.  Detention, pt. 2, will be up shortly, if all goes well.

Sorry for the lack of updates, my "uploading privileges" were suspended yet again.  Why?  ::Shrugs:: They didn't bother to say.  

Oh, and someone gave me some ideas in a review, unfortunately, I've not been able to access ff.net in awhile and haven't been able to find it again.  Email me at SilentTowr@AOL.com if it was you J  I remember liking the idea…anyway.

Enjoy.  

Detention

Detention.  One of the few things of teaching these insipid children that I sometimes enjoy.  Forcing them to do things they'd rather not, making them scrub and cut and dice, all without magic.  Terrifying them.  

Yes, detention can be pleasant.

But this detention wasn't going to be about scrubbing or preparing my nastier ingredients.  No, it's to get inside Potter's head, to get him to come out and tell me things.  

I'm used to getting information out of clever and sly children, who don't want to share their secrets.  Slytherins keep their emotions and thoughts well-guarded.  I've assisted a few in finding some semblance of peace.  Others break, fall, and crumble.  Some didn't want the help, joined the Death Eaters, and now lie in a massive grave.  Slytherins have only gone to their Head of House for help.  No other.  Never the Headmaster, unless he too, was a Slytherin.  With the amount of prejudice against Slytherins, there haven't been many.

On the outside, the parts that they show the rest of the school, they are cold, calculating, and with little tolerance of others besides themselves.  Some don't even have that.

Perhaps if he had been in Slytherin—ridiculous as that would have sounded a year ago—then it wouldn't be this way.  

He saunters into the room with little care. His façade is firmly in place.  He smirks, "Cauldrons again?  Or maybe dicing?  Or a disemboweling?"  

Perhaps a defenestration, but there are no windows.  Pity.  I must rein in my more anti-Gryffindor Golden Boy Who Lived Hero urges. 

"Cauldrons."  Give a knife to the boy who wishes to die?  No.  

Albus would never forgive me.

I wouldn't forgive myself.  

"Well?  Get to it."  

He mutters something under his breath that I don't quite catch.  I'm sure that the words 'greasy' and 'git' lurked there somewhere.  

He scrubs.

I sit at my desk, leaving him to do his chore in silence.  

He grits his teeth; the grinding is the only source of noise.  

Turning a Hufflepuff's paper over, I take great pleasure in marking it a failure, complete with writing a note to the idiot child that research should perhaps be done in the library.  And to quit turning in drivel, or they'd never pass my class.  

He's banging the cauldrons together now, making a mess of soap, water, and ingredient debris on the floor.

I go to the next essay.  Entirely on the wrong subject.  Another failure.  I smile grimly; these children will never learn.

One cauldron is finished.  Four more await him.  He sits on the table, glaring at me.  

I ignore it, turning to the next page.  Finally, someone who's actually researched something.  Yet only partially.  It too receives a massive lashing of red.

He's returned to scrubbing.  He doesn't speak and neither do I.

I can feel his eyes on me, occasionally, before a grunt escapes him and he returns to the manual labor.  

Then suddenly the quiet is silenced—he's thrown the cauldron he had been working on across the room.  Soap and water splattered the benches, but I scarcely paid attention to that.

"Potter!  15 points—"

"I don't care.  Take them all.  This is…"  

Yes, boy, continue.  What is this?

"I didn't deserve this detention.  This is a load of fucking crap, that's what it is." 

Strange how he said it so calmly, with barely any inflection in his voice.  Perhaps he's further than I thought. 

Also strange that he doesn't deserve the detention…but feels as if he deserves those lines on his arm.  Of course, he hasn't said that, but I know.

He's stopped talking during my reverie and now is glaring at me most spectacularly.  Practiced in the mirror, perhaps?  

I raise an eyebrow.  "Clean up the mess, then return to your cauldrons."  

He surprises me by doing just that.

He's gone silent again; perhaps I didn't push him enough.

But there's still time.

Back to grading.  Joy that it is, I was counting on him to do something more drastic.

Silence reigns.  

"I'm done."  

Hmm, so he is.  Rather sloppily though, so—"They aren't clean enough.  Do it again."

He glares at me, but I don't get the reaction that I had hoped for.  

Still, there's time.

He's not quite as lost as he thinks...I hope.  


	19. Detention, pt 2

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Warnings: Where've you been? Oh, and I haven't gone over it, sorry. If someone would like to volunteer to do that, be my guest. I'm tired. And it is short, after such a long wait. Sorry.

AN at the bottom.

Detention, part 2…aka, Introducing everyone's other favorite Slytherin

I return to grading once again. He does his work half-heartedly, with an underlying anger. I'm impressed by the boy's control, really. I should have been hexed at least once by now, but he hasn't succumbed to that.

Well now, time to up the scales.

"Boy!" I've noticed his flinch anytime he's been addressed as such. "Scrub these properly, or your next detention will seem like paradise."

He grunts and mutters under his breath. Well, that obviously wasn't enough of a push. But what to try? I wanted him angry, not homicidal.

"You don't have to do this." It's whispered so softly that I wonder whether I was meant to hear it or not.

Has he caught me at my game? No, Potter's never been that perceptive.

I ignore him in favor of marking a Gryffindor first year's attempt a satisfying failure.

----------------------

Draco Malfoy hadn't been the Death-Eater-in-Training that most of the school (including the Slytherins) had thought him. He hated mudbloods, of course, but more because they represented a very real and reasonable threat to the world that he knew. After all, Voldemort had been a half-mudblood, and though he was going to do good (kill the mudbloods or at the very least, keep them out of Hogwarts) he did it at a risk to everything else in the Wizarding World. No, Draco wasn't nice by any stretch of the imagination, but he wasn't a supporter of the now-fallen Dark Lord.

After his father's trial and subsequent Kiss along with his mother in a permanent ward of St. Mungo's, he was now under the care of his guardian. His Head of House had taken on the responsibility of seeing him befitted in the manner of a Malfoy until he left Hogwarts. After that, he could do as he pleased. Much to his surprise, his father had, just before the close of the war, transferred everything to Draco's name. Therefore, the Ministry couldn't take anything that, legally, belonged to him. All Dark objects had been disposed of, or hidden. When Draco left Hogwarts, he would still be very rich.

Every week, Professor Snape insisted that they discuss anything that Draco wished. If Draco couldn't come up with a topic, Snape chose one. So Draco always came up with something. Lately, that something had been Potter, of all people. No, Draco wasn't exactly concerned that Potter had been a tad…insane…he was more curious about it than anything else.

He wondered what had kept himself from the edge. The Malfoy upbringing, no doubt. No Malfoy could be committed to St. Mungo's, or considered nutters. They wouldn't let themselves. Well, except for his mother, but she wasn't really a Malfoy anyway. Or maybe Snape was it. All those talks. In any case, he was glad that the war was over. In the end, it was a good thing that the 'Light' had won—Voldemort truly wasn't the ideal leader of the wizarding world.

Today was the day for yet another talk. Granted, they never really lasted long, but they did seem to be a tad pointless. Who cared what he thought anyhow? He was rich, his parents who could barely bother themselves about him were dead, and he was almost done with school. What more could he want?

_…or your next detention will seem like paradise._

_A faint scratching of quill to parchment._

_You don't have to do this. _

That sounded like Professor Snape—and Potter. In detention again.

He debated about going inside. Clearing his throat or shuffling his feet. But Malfoys never shuffled their feet. Nor did they announce their presence in such…plebian…ways. Perhaps he would just knock.

Except Draco was in the habit of eavesdropping. He had to be in order to survive in his house.

He lingered at the door.

He could hear the sloshing of water—Potter was probably scrubbing cauldrons.

_"I'm done. Again. Now can I go." _

Again? Must have done a sloppy job…or Snape wanted him there longer. And that 'can I go' was certainly not a question. More of a demand.

Idiot Potter, really. A Gryffindor demanding to be let out of a Professor Snape detention. It was absurd.

_"Sit. Your detention isn't over yet." _

That seemed almost…calm.

He could hear what seemed to be…growling? Surely Potter didn't think that'd sway Professor Snape in any way…

They were right: Potter had gone insane.

_"Yes, Professor Snape. Of course. I'm at your beck and call. Why not." _

Such disrespect to a Slytherin! Snape would never tolerate that. He wouldn't!

_"I see that you want another detention. Congratulations. I'm pleased to grant you your request." _

There was more silence after that. Apparently Snape had gone back to grading. Or whatever.

He wondered why Potter hadn't blown up yet. Why he hadn't…done something. He, as a Malfoy, would certainly never stand for that type of treatment. Not in a million years!

Potter had cracked. In a major way, if the rumors were true.

He'd never heard Potter so…unresponsive. Taking all the verbal crap, all of the whispers, the detentions. And after being the Boy Who Lived to Kill Voldemort, Draco would have thought that he'd not take anything, from anyone, ever again.

It was all really…odd.

And while Draco was debating the nuisance that was the Potter mystery, he hadn't noticed that the door had opened. Or that Harry had been given permission to leave. Or that he looked so obvious, standing there, with his head against now empty space.

Nor did he see the fist that slammed into his head, before it was too late. The last thing that he saw before a foggy kind of dark took him was green eyes, glittering rather dangerously.

TBC

Yes, I know. Not my usual. Draco's hard. Harder than what I thought he'd be. I hope I did his character at least some justice. But I think we needed a different point of view...and Draco is more suited to this than others.

As for the lateness of the chapter, that's been somewhat described at my yahoo group.

Review responses:

To those who are concerned: No, actually. I hate the sight of my own blood. Or any blood, for that matter. Which is why I didn't go to med school. Anyway. The hitting too close to home again was my friend who gave me more…insight…to how it feels and why and whatnot. Mostly, this story stems from just imagination and my ability to empathize to an extreme degree. And no, I'm not kidding about that. I scare my friends sometimes Grin Again, I don't cut. I've never cut. I've thought about it, yes. But I can't bring myself to get nauseous over the sight of my own blood, so that cures me of thinking it might be an idea.

GJMEGA: I really don't like offensive language like that. Why? 'Cause it's offensive. However, I will answer your questions, partly. Harry's not 'letting' them do this to him. He's 'letting' himself do it. Or rather, allowing them to do it. He may have killed Voldemort, but that did not necessarily make him stronger than Voldemort, or Dumbledore for that matter. Just a tad more…tricky. Perhaps I'll do the scene later. As for Dumbledore…who says he couldn't have killed Voldemort if he wanted to…but his image was stolen by a year old baby. So, politics gets in the way—does he look like an idiot and try and stop the young, already idolized boy? Or does he 'assist'? Snape is being Snape. By making him scrub cauldrons, he is reducing a traumatized war hero into that of a young, errant schoolboy. Exactly what Harry needs—someone who doesn't treat him like some god. Why does he (Harry) care? Well…maybe he doesn't really want to die. Maybe he does want to stop…but he can't think of how. So he goes to the snarkiest Professor he can find, who has the guts to treat him like any ordinary child. As for taking it lying down…he won't. He isn't, not really. Underneath is a lot of anger that he is desperately trying to control. Next time, don't curse. And then I'll be a lot happier answering your questions.

To those who think I'll abandon this story: Not going to happen. Updates are infrequent, I know, but I'm not going to stop writing it.

To everyone who's reviewed: Thank you! I appreciate them all.


	20. Plans and Diversions

Disclaimer: I own nothing that is J.K.'s.

Warnings: If you don't already know, you've skipped far too much. Go back and read it.

A/N: It's a chapter, I know you all can't believe it, but I'm finally updating. Hurricanes, emergencies, computer crashes, and medical stuff aside, it's finally here! Woo. Apologies for the extremely long wait and the shortness of the chapter after such a wait. (Though it's been on the yahoo group for awhile now, is rather annoying).

Plans and Diversions

He blinked. The light hurt his eyes, tiny daggers. He was lying on a floor. A dirty potion-spilled floor. Reeked, too. And his face felt like a Bludger had beaten him. Things were not looking good.

_Physical violence, Potter, will not be tolerated in this school. You'll be lucky if you aren't expelled for this! Perhaps you really do belong at St. Mungo's. _

Well, crap. What did Potter have to do with—oh, right.

_Perhaps I don't NEED this place anymore. Voldemort's gone now, I can go back to the Muggle world! You don't NEED me anymore! Who cares what I do? _

_You are still a student of this school. You haven't completed your training. You would be dangerous to the Muggles, yourself, and the Wizarding World! Don't even contemplate such a thing, Potter. _

He debated what he should do. Speak…or listen. Listening the last time got him in the position he was now in, but he always found out such valuable information…hmm. A few more moments couldn't hurt.

_Always about what other people want.__ Kill Voldemort, Harry. Be a Seeker, Harry. You're just like your father, Potter. Well, what about me? Why can't I do what I want!_

That was actually a really good impression of Snape, but Draco didn't think that he'd like that. Ah well.

_You are a child, Potter. You can't just do what you want. _

_And as a child, everyone decided that I should be the one to kill Voldemort. Well, he's gone now. I'm done with all of this!_

Time to wake up. I really don't want to hear anything about his issues.

He groaned loudly.

"Whas—"

"Don't move yet, be still." He heard the mutterings of a scanning spell—Snape was checking for concussion. He had hit the floor rather hard. And who knew Potter could punch like that? He was going to bruise, which meant concealing charms for awhile.

"Potter stay right where you are. I'm not done with you yet."

It was odd how Potter followed his orders.

"Mr. Malfoy, as you are quite well, albeit a bit bruised, you may return to your room. I will be in to discuss this with you later."

Well, bugger. I wanted to finish listening.

"Yes, Professor." A slight nod to him, and I had to leave.

I wonder if they'd notice if I didn't go down the corridor?

"Mr. Malfoy. Now."

Well that answers that. Time to see what the imbeciles were doing.

"Alright, Potter. Detention, two weeks. I won't take any points this time—"

"Only because your precious Malfoy was the cause of that! He's lucky I didn't hex him!"

"Quiet! You will be working on the assignments that you've been neglecting."

"You want me to make up five months of work in two weeks? You're mad. I won't do it. Guess you'll just have to expel me."

Severus sighed. This boy was going to drive him mad. He couldn't handle things on his own, without resorting to physical mutilation; he certainly wasn't going to allow him to leave the Wizarding world. He knew that if the boy was expelled, he'd return to the muggle life.

"Detention, Potter. That will be all."

Harry stormed out. Things were not going to plan. And where the hell was his blade?

Up in Gryffindor Tower, things were going much more smoothly. Ron and Hermione had succeeded in talking to Harry without being concerned at all.

"We're going to visit mum and Ginny on Saturday, Harry. Are you coming?"

Like he really wanted to go St. Mungo's Ward for Incurable Maladies. "Yes. Of course."

Ron and Hermione smiled at each other. Progress! Harry was theirs again.

"Want to play chess, Harry?"

No, I don't want to bloody play chess. Stupid, stupid!

"Harry?"

Damn, that concerned, are-you-alright-and-still-sane tone. "Sure, mate. Chess it is."

"Hey, Harry, are you still awake?" Ron's voice cut through my thoughts. And lovely thoughts they were—blood and pain and lines and death.

"Harry?"

Will he get the hint? I concentrate on my breathing, in and out, in and out. Back and forth, got to find my blade. Or glass. Or something. And on my arms, this time. The ankle, or legs, or wherever else just aren't the same. I want to feel the lines, the ridges. I want—

"Harry?"

Ron to stop saying my name. Can't he figure out that I'm asleep?

The conversation with Snape drifted in my mind, and I latched on to it.

Thank Merlin, Ron's given up.

Now if only I could get that bloodhound Snape to do the same…

A/N. I know, short. But it's something, yes? And I will be endeavoring to write more; more quickly even. Do let me know what you think! As always, suggestions and concrit welcome.


End file.
